


Sweet, Sweet Revenge

by reellifejaneway



Series: Dragon Age: One-Shots [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Revenge, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 00:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say the pen is mightier than the sword, and Commander Cullen is about to put that old maxim to its ultimate test. Just when Inquisitor Lavellan had thought her practical joke long forgotten, her advisor plans retribution in its most tantalizing – and riskiest – form. But when the prank is stumbled across by an unwitting Cassandra Pentaghast, Cullen’s revenge has some unexpected results…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet, Sweet Revenge

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [On A Whim](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799620) by [reellifejaneway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway). 



> PROMPT: Cullen plays a trick on the Inquisitor. Requested by bloodofthepen on Tumblr as a sequel to “On A Whim”. Though, I did take liberties with the ‘prank’, hehe!
> 
> Arida Lavellan belongs to me. Cullen and the wonderful world of Thedas belong to Bioware. I’m just a fangirl who can’t let go. ^_^

The silvery moonlight graced the bulwark that night, the faint glow glancing off the figure that stalked along the wall. The Dwarf, barely reaching a human’s elbow in height, strolled quietly toward the guard tower and stopped – just as he had been instructed to do.

It wasn’t the first time Varric had dabbled in subterfuge – but _this_ was like a scene straight out of one of his novels. Varric had been working to refit Bianca with a new grip when there had been a shuffling noise outside his room. When he had risen to check on the noise, he had discovered a slip of parchment nestled in the small gap beneath his door. Varric had shaken his head slightly, wondering at the cryptic note he turned over in his hands. A steady script in black ink read:

_The Watch Tower at ten. Be there._

_Bring that item I requested._

_And speak of this to no-one!_

The note was unsigned.

“Somebody has been reading too much _Hard in Hightown_ ,” he muttered, his breath leaving his lips in visible puffs against the cold night air.

And that was when he heard the chilling creak of hinges. Varric turned in time to see a phantom-like silhouette step through the doorway, robed in black. Their face was indiscernible beneath the hood drawn low, but Varric instantly knew that this was his contact.

“Did you bring it?” A deep, menacing voice addressed the rogue out of the shadows.

Varric crossed his arms. “Before we discuss my payment, I would like to know what you intend to _do_ with this,” he patted his concealed jacket pocket, “merchandise.”

“That is none of your concern,” the buyer hissed, taking a step forward, “now, I wish to view my acquisition.”

“You do realise that this could get some people around here into deep shit, right?” The dwarf laughed nervously, “I have a reputation to uphold.”

This drew a huff from the anonymous party. “I paid you a good sum for this – what more do you want?”

“Reassurance.” Varric cocked his head to one side. “I want to know that my hard work isn’t going to earn me a lengthy respite in one of Skyhold’s luxury dungeon cells.”

The anonymous buyer let out a sigh before reaching into some unseen pouch. One gloved hand extended a tiny parcel in Varric’s direction. “I cannot make any promises, dwarf. But this may prove somewhat _comforting_...”

“...He said auspiciously.” Varric’s brow lowered conspicuously. “What is this – a declaration of indemnity?” He squinted at the signature on the bottom of the page. It looked vaguely familiar, but in this light he couldn’t quite make it out. “And you’re sure this will work?”

“If anyone questions you, show them this. But, as I said,” the robed man reminded him, “I cannot make any promises that it will protect you entirely.”

The rogue shrugged. “At this point, I’ll take what I can get.” After a long pause, Varric drew his own bundle from its hidden pocket and handed it to the cloaked man. “Alright, it’s yours. Just use it wisely, otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.”

His only response was a deep, throaty chuckle. “Oh, I shall.”

The man turned and stepped into the darkness – just as recognition dawned on Varric.

“Nah,” He dismissed the thought. “It couldn’t be.” The stranger’s voice replayed in his mind, this time with a face to match. Varric’s jaw slackened in astonishment, one hand rising to rub at his coarse stubble musingly. Suddenly a lot of things made sense. He smirked in silent laughter, “Then again, Curly never did strike me as the passive type.”

 

* * *

 

 

Arida awoke with a soft groan.

A whisper of breeze brushed over her exposed cheek and bare shoulder. Her muscles ached satisfyingly – partly due to several weeks of riding through the Exalted Plains, and partly thanks to other more _pleasant_ exertions. Nestling further into her deep pillows, Arida groaned and tried to ignore the bitter mountain air. But that was nearly impossible to accomplish considering that her toes were bitterly cold.

Rolling over and tossing a fistful of unruly auburn locks away from her face, she squinted through eyes fogged by sleep. Her quarters were almost exactly as she had left them the night before. Her hunter’s coat and velvet garments tossed across the settee, and her unfinished mission report still lay on the desk where she had tossed it. The balcony doors, however, had been opened slightly.

Try as she might, Arida could not recall leaving the door open.

An inarticulate mutter, vaguely resembling a blending of his name and a Dalish curse, tumbled from her lips. Arida pushed herself upright on her elbows, staring judgmentally at the blanket – or lack thereof – at the end of the grand Orlesian bed. The cool morning wind was taking advantage of the momentary lapse to claim possession of her small, white feet. It was not unusual to awaken with cold feet these days, as her lover had a tendency to kick the bedding away during his nightmares. But it _was_ unusual to find her bed in such a state when her lover was absent.

And absent he was. Appraising the jumble of discarded clothing on the floor, Arida realized that Cullen’s tunic and pauldrons were not tangled among them.

_That is odd,_ she thought in disappointment, biting her lower lip. _He couldn’t have gone already – he promised that he would spend the morning with me._

“Cullen?” She called, lying back and rubbing her face slowly. When no response came, she sat up fully, drawing the silk sheet up to cover her exposed chest. “ _Ma’vhenan_ , where are you?”

The sound of parchment fluttering caught her attention then. Turning to glance at the bedclothes beside her, the Inquisitor discovered a letter lying on the Commander’s pillow. She squinted at it for a moment before snatching it up, breaking the Lion’s wax seal and absorbing every word of her lover’s firm script:

 

_Good morning, Arida._

_I am sorry that I cannot be with you this morning – Maker knows how much I want to be there, snuggled beside you, holding you in my arms and listening to you breathe softly as you sleep. But business has called me away, and I fear shall keep me unavoidably detained until later this afternoon. I have, however, left you with a small gift. I was going to save it for our first anniversary, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone this morning after returning from such a long mission._

_I shall return, my heart. I promise I shall make it all up to you when I do._

_Remember – I’m always yours._

 

A resigned sigh escaped her lips. Turning, she noticed a lilac night robe – made from fine Orlesian silk – lying folded upon the end of the bed.

“You bought me a robe?” Arida whispered disbelievingly, moving forward to clasp the delicate garment to her skin. She turned it over after a moment, smiling at the embroidered floral motif in pale blue. The material almost shimmered, changing between the two colours as she folded it in the morning light. “Oh Cullen, it is beautiful – I wish you were here to see me in it.” The Inquisitor shifted onto her side, pressing her face into Cullen’s pillow, breathing deeply. His scent filled her senses despite his absence, wrapping her in unseen arms of comfort. “ _El’dhin avan, ma’vhenan,_ ” Arida whispered, stretching out on his side of the bed. _I understand why, my heart._ “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

The bedclothes were cool – Cullen had been gone for a while, she noted – but the faint consolation was all that she needed. For several minutes, she simply lay there contented at the memory of his words and the gift in her hands…

At least, until there was a loud banging on her bedroom door.

Arida bolted upright, the ferocity of the pounding making her head spin. “Creators!” She hissed, scrambling out of bed and into the cold air of her room. “Just a moment!” Shrugging the delicate robe on over otherwise bare skin, Arida prayed that her unwelcome guest wouldn’t come barging through the door before she was decent.

Descending the stairs two at a time when half-asleep is never a good idea. With her innate ability to trip on thin air, she was practically tempting fate. The ungainly elf very nearly sent herself tumbling to the bottom of the stairwell several times, earning a bruise or two as she caught herself before worse injuries could occur. Stumbling to a standstill and hurriedly combing her hair with her fingers, Arida threw open the door to find a flustered Seeker Pentaghast pacing on the landing.

“Cassandra?” The Inquisitor gaped, shivering and cinching her robe a little higher about her neck. “What is it?”

The dark-haired warrior seethed, her deep brown eyes drilling into Arida’s blue irises furiously. “Have you not heard the rumours?”

“Rumours?” Arida shook her head.

Cassandra snorted with disgust, crossing her arms and resuming her pacing. “He lied to me! I’ve given him an honest opinion on every tale, even helped him edit, and yet he _lied_ to me. I can’t believe it.”

The red-haired elf leaned against the door jamb, her brows furrowed as she tried to decipher what on earth was really going on.

He and Cassandra had become strangely familiar since he had learned of her secret fascination with his novels. Manuscripts had been exchanged regularly ever since that confrontation in the courtyard, that much the Inquisitor knew. Varric had told Arida later that Cassandra had become an informal proof-reader. Turns out the woman was not only an avid booklover, but a proficient editor. A tenuous friendship between author and devotee – laced with a hint of awe on Cassandra’s part and a smidge of caginess on Varric’s – had been established.

So something serious must have happened for the two to fall out again. Arida knew how much the warrior enjoyed her books, but this…?

“Cassandra, why don’t you come in and talk?” Arida stepped back and ushered the other woman through the open door.

“He kept telling me that the next chapter of his book wasn’t ready,” Cassandra fumed, “and now I hear that he’s been writing a new story in secret. In secret!”

Shaking her head, Lavellan followed the stormy-faced warrior.  “I’m sure there is a good reason for Varric keeping the story quiet. Perhaps he wanted to surprise you with it?”

Cassandra turned at the top of the stairs and shot an annoyed glare at the Inquisitor. “Varric – surprise _me_?” She grunted, “No, something else is going on here, and I want to know what it is.”

 Arida shrugged and padded up the wooden treads after her. “So that’s why you came barging into my room first thing in the morning?” She quipped, reaching to close the balcony door as she passed it. “I’m glad you didn’t decide to stop by any earlier—”

“I passed Cullen in the courtyard. I pay attention to details,” the warrior interjected, the corner of her mouth twitching with unvoiced amusement, “and stop changing the subject.”

“Have you thought of going and asking Varric about these rumors?” The inquisitor folded her arms and relaxed against the gilded end of the lofty Orlesian bed.

“Maker, no!” Cassandra laughed then, but it was a heated laugh. A glint appeared in her eye – a shimmering hint of something that Arida could only describe as rancorous, implacable. “He has lied to me about so many things. This… This is just one.”

“You mean Hawke, don’t you?”

Cassandra spun on her heel. “That dwarf told me that he had not spoken to the Champion in months! And he knew where she was all along!”

Lavellan shook her head slightly, “And if you had a friend like Kathea Hawke, who was only trying to protect themselves and their loved ones from assassins, wouldn’t you try to shield them? He was just looking out for her, Cassandra. You would do the same for me, and I for you.”

The Seeker’s dark brows furrowed. “I know _why_ he did it. But,” she let out an exasperated breath and leaned against the edge of the desk, “I just wanted to talk to her.”

“And you just want to read this story,” Arida nodded gently. “I understand. But Varric has good reasons, Cassandra. He wouldn’t be keeping it from you otherwise.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Inquisitor. I am being selfish.” Cassandra pushed herself away from the desk, but as she took a step toward the stairs, she faltered. Those dark eyes swept across the bedspread. “What… What volume is that?” She queried.

Confused, Arida frowned. “Volume?” The elf’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“The book,” Cassandra nodded toward the foot of the bed, “you didn’t tell me that you were reading _Swords and Shields_?”

The Inquisitor glanced over her shoulder – to find that a small, bound volume was, indeed, lying on the end of her Orlesian bedspread. The robe Cullen had left for her must have concealed it when she had first awoken. But that was not what startled her – or what made her blush.

The volume did look remarkably like a chapter of Varric’s romance serial. Only in this instance, the cover boasted a rather different image from Cassandra’s favourite characters. Her stomach pitched in disbelief. Instead of the iconic guard captain _Swords and Shields_ was famous for, a demure elf graced the centre of the frame. Arida did a double-take when she caught sight of auburn hair and a distinctive white leather hunter’s coat depicted in water-colour paint. As she took in the second figure to the right of the cover, the Inquisitor wanted to collapse. For, replacing the dark-haired guardsman was a stalwart, blond-haired man clad in a distinctive fur pauldrons.

A strangled gasp escaped her.

Emblazoned across the top of the volume in bold letters, read a new title: ‘ _Rogues and Rifts_ ’.

_Creators save me…!_

“What is wrong?” Cassandra smiled. “You hoped perhaps that I would not catch you reading Varric’s stories?”

Arida’s cheeks blanched white, and she reached behind her, casually trying to cover the book up with the end of the coverlet. “N-no, it’s n-not that, Cassandra… I…” She could feel the heat rushing to the tips of her ears. They would be turning a vivid shade of red for sure. “I-It’s not mine.”

“Do you mean to tell me that the Commander reads _romance_ novels?” Cassandra shook her head, amused. “I must admit, that is unexpected.” She took a step forward then. “Which chapter is he—?”

“I don’t know!” Arida blurted, her eyes wide in sudden terror. Her whole body stiffened at the thought of Cassandra finding this new additionto Varric’s collection. The very notion made her insides lurch. “I-I haven’t looked… Cullen, uh… Cullen doesn’t like his books being touched,” she lied, suddenly stricken with fear.

“He’s not going to notice, surely?” Cassandra was incredulous. She was trying to lean past the Inquisitor now, reaching for the barely concealed manuscript. “I only have to see the cover to tell.”

“Wait – I think it was the one Varric gave you a few weeks ago,” Arida bluffed, trying desperately to ignore her own mortification. “Wasn’t the last instalment chapter eleven—?”

“Twelve,” the raven-haired warrior corrected her abruptly. A devious glint appeared in her dark eyes. Catching Lavellan off guard, Cassandra snatched the volume out from under the blanket. “There!” She held up the novel triumphantly, oblivious to the picture on the front cover, or the fact that she was now waving the brightly-coloured atrocity under Arida’s nose. “Why do you not wish for me to see it? You’ve seen me reading these enough to know better, surely.”

Arida let out a panicked squeak, practically leaping after the Seeker frantically. “It’s not that, Cassandra! Please, don’t!”

The Nevarran turned her back against the dainty elf’s scrabbling hands. Swaying her hips, she sauntered across the room and playfully flicked through the pages, starting at the back of the volume. “Now let’s see what—”

“Cassandra, no!” Arida shrieked, throwing herself headlong toward the taller woman.

The offending volume slipped from the Seeker’s hands, skittering across the floor and stopping at the foot of the Inquisitor’s desk. Meanwhile, the pair landed in a tangled pile on the sofa. A disgusted noise sounded and Arida found herself tumbling to the floor with a muffled shriek. Meanwhile, Cassandra sat up on the sofa in horror, her cropped black hair utterly dishevelled from being tackled. She gawked down at the diminutive elf sprawled out on the floor in front of her.

“By Andraste – what did you do that for?” Cassandra’s brows furrowed so deeply together that Arida wondered if they would become stuck that way.

Inquisitor Lavellan pushed herself up on her elbows. Blue eyes flashed with icy rage as she furiously tugged the corner of her new robe out from beneath her friend’s foot. “You made me do it!” She fumed, her lips pinching together furiously.

“It’s just a book!” Cassandra snapped, pushing herself off the couch and stepping out of Arida’s reach. “You _launched_ yourself at me like I was some enemy soldier, over a _book_?”

“It’s not just a book! Ow,” Arida muttered, rolling over and tending to her bruised elbow.

“No, you’re right,” the warrior folded her arms and glared down at the novel judgmentally, “clearly it’s… It’s...”

Arida’s and Cassandra’s eyes flicked to the volume simultaneously, and an eerie hush fell over them.

The cover was laying face-up, the stylized couple emblazoned there for all to see. Arida groaned, letting her forehead droop against her folded arms.

_Creators. I’m never going to hear the end of this._

A few moments later, Arida heard leather creak – Cassandra was bending to pick up the book. Did she dare raise her eyes? Did she even want to know what the response would be to this fallacy?

…In the end, Arida knew she had no other choice.

Cassandra’s eyes had visibly widened; her hand shook visibly as she beheld the front of the book. “What,” her rounded accent soured into a tone of flat disbelief, “what is this…?”

“It’s a book,” Arida huffed sarcastically, resting her diamond-shaped chin on slender forearms.

“I can see it’s a book!” Cassandra snapped, “But _why_ does it have _you_ on the cover?”

“What can I say? I am muse material.” The Dalish rogue rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in exasperation.

Seeker Pentaghast flipped open the cover and read aloud: “ _Conrad Rutledge surveyed the damage.”_ Her brows arched and she glared at Arida pointedly, “Conrad Rutledge?”

“I didn’t invent the pseudonyms if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Hrmph, I gathered as much. You’d never come up with something so obvious.” Cassandra resumed reading: _“Clearly somebody had decided that merely waking a sleeping dragon was not enough. From the number of body parts strewn across the desert sand, Rutledge assumed some dim-wit had taken the liberty of tottering straight up to the beast and poking it with a stick. Either that or the dragon had lost the contents of its stomach in the wake of a nasty hangover._ ”

Arida stifled a laugh, instantly sobering as Cassandra’s withering gaze landed on her face. “I swear I know nothing about this.”

Silencing the bewildered elf by raising a finger, Cassandra flicked a few pages ahead. “ _Conrad stepped past the motionless gullet of the enormous dragon to find a tiny woman hacking at the glistening scales of its belly. ‘Adeya?’ He gaped.”_ That sentence earned Arida another knowing glare. “ _The moment Rutledge stepped out from behind the corpse, a sharpened Dalish dagger flew past his ear. Skimming harmlessly through his fur-edged cloak, the curved blade twanged against the dragon’s skin and wobbled there for a moment. ‘One more step, Shemlen, and I’ll pin you there beside it,’ the elf hissed.”_

“Creators! I would never say anything that hackneyed,” Arida protested, pushing herself off the rug and moving to read over Cassandra’s shoulder. “Let me see that.”

Cassandra read on, her eyes narrowing as she studied the pages. “It would seem that there is also a rather steamy dalliance involving your alter ego, a coconut, and an oasis waterfall.”

“What!”

“It says so right here: ‘ _The water broke over them in waves and crests, the sounds of their barely contained moans drowned out only by the wild rush of’—”_

“Stop! By the Creators,” Inquisitor Lavellan covered her face with her hands, but nothing could hide just how badly the tips of her ears were blushing. “Please tell me this is a nightmare.”

“If I wasn’t so angry with Varric, I’d almost be impressed.” Cassandra’s eyebrow quirked.

Arida shrunk back in horror. “Please tell me you’re not going to ask for a sequel,” she pleaded, “I don’t know if the Inquisition would survive the rumours. I already get far too many ridiculous questions from Orlesian nobles – it’s the only thing they seem to care about besides whether or not I’ll endorse their political agendas. Last thing I want is for Varric to publish,” she waved her hand at the tome, “whatever this is.”

“Do you know what this means?” Cassandra said after a momentary pause.

“That I’ve been immortalised in popular fiction as a rampaging, sex-crazed bounty hunter with a penchant for ruggedly blond men and dragon slaying?”

The dark-haired woman beside her glowered depreciatively, sputtering, “It means that Varric _has_ been lying to me. I was right!” She waved the novel in the air. “This is the story – the one he’s been hiding from me!”

Arida folded her arms. “Really? That’s what you’re upset about?”

But Cassandra was no longer listening. “He’s going to be made to regret this. I swear it.”

“I hope you’re thinking of me a little bit here—”

“I _always_ read his stories!” The seeker tossed the book at Arida and stomped furiously toward the stairs. “Always!”

The Inquisitor jumped a little as the heavy oak door slammed shut behind her. Dazed, staring dumfounded at the book in her hands, Arida took a few moments to try and piece together what just happened.

_Varric wrote a book about me and Cullen._

That sounded even more ridiculous the longer she thought about it.

_Conrad Rutledge? Adeya Larellan?_

“It’s not even remotely subtle!” She exclaimed, “It’s almost as if he _wanted_ me to... To...”

And suddenly the pieces fell into place.

The well-positioned robe. The convenient absence. The perfectly painted front cover. The too-close sounding aliases...

_No,_ she thought in horror, “that can’t be right!”

“What can’t be right?”

Arida’s head whipped around so fast she almost fell over. Cullen was leaning against the banister, a strange gleam in his eye and hands folded neatly behind his back. She had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t heard him enter.

Glancing down at the book and then back up at his smirking face, Arida’s mind put the whole incident together with alarming speed. “I can’t believe it.”

Cullen’s eyes widened innocently. “My heart, you are going to have to be more specific if you want me to—”

She thrust the book in his hands then, rising on her toes to look him in the eye. Waving a finger in his face, Arida exclaimed, “ _You_ did this!”

“What are you talking about?”

“This!” Arida tapped Varric’s volume, “’Rifts and Rogues’! Some new serial based on our love lives, and depicting,” her nose wrinkled, “an intimate encounter with a _waterfall_?”

Much to her amazement, her commander’s eyes didn’t even phase. For a guilty man he certainly was good at masking his emotions. But for an innocent one, he was doing a terrible job of credibly denying the incident.

“Now, I wonder who put such an _absurd_ idea in Varric’s head,” he asked simply, staring down at her in thinly veiled amusement.

“I wonder,” Arida echoed sullenly.

Moments later, a panicked screech sounded from the courtyard below.

Cullen’s brow quirked. “What in Andraste’s name was that...?”

Both Cullen and Arida rushed out onto the balcony, ignoring the cold morning wind. Below them, a pair of figures raced across the sparring ground. One was flailing furiously, the other running as fast as his shorter legs could carry him. A faint strain of conversation floated to them on the breeze then:

“ _But I only wanted to read it!”_

Varric paused just long enough to wave around a tattered piece of paper before scurrying toward the tavern. “I have a letter from the Commander of the Inquisition that says otherwise!” He let out what sounded vaguely like a whoop as he ducked in and out of the practice dummies. Cassandra’s wooden practice sword, however, wasn’t far behind...

Arida groaned as the chaos continued to echo across the keep, burying her face in her hands. “Oh Varric, you’re going to be very, very sore when this day is over.”

The muted sound of laughter made her look up. Cullen’s fur-clad shoulders were shaking in mirth, his hand over his mouth and sparkling gold eyes firmly locked on her face.

“That was... An unintended side-effect, I assure you,” He murmured between chuckles.

She turned on him with a withering glare. “So you finally confess.”

“It wasn’t intended for Cassandra’s eyes,” Cullen laughed openly then, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He turned the novel over and glanced at the front cover. “But you have to admit, Varric did an impressive job.”

“This is...” Arida racked a slender hand through her hair. “This is payback isn’t it? For the desk incident?” When he smiled in affirmation, she relented and giggled. “Creators, I simply have to know: how did you get him to do it...?”

“I promised him that I would track down that crossbow specialist in Kirkwall – source him some upgrades for Bianca – in exchange for a small favour for a ‘friend’. I even offered him a letter of impunity in exchange for his silence on the topic. Then I sent him an anonymous letter discussing the details of the request... And maybe a few suggestions for the particular content of the story.” Cullen shrugged. “I’m pretty certain he knew I was the ‘friend’ all along. But it was worth it. Though I had hoped to see your reaction upon waking instead. I’d planned to be sitting up in bed reading it, waiting to see how long it would take for you to notice – and then I got called away.” He sighed and indicated to the pair still running and shouting below. “Let’s just say I didn’t quite anticipate _that_ outcome.”

Arida smiled, stepping back inside. “Well in that case, I’d say the joke is on both of us. Don’t you agree?” Sauntering past the desk, Arida turned and set the novel on the sideboard. But she stopped short when she realised that Cullen hadn’t made it past the balcony doors. “Cullen?”

“Maker preserve me,” Cullen murmured in admiration.

It was then that Arida remembered – she was wearing nothing more than her new silk robe. And Creators, did her lover appreciate the view.

His eyes had blown wide, and his mouth hung open as he struggled to formulate an adequate response. Those intensely dark pupils of his were wandering up and down her lithe form, taking in every detail of her figure. The new robe was doing an immaculate job of it too, Arida noted with pride. One sleeve had slid off her lily white shoulder in the tousle earlier and she simply hadn’t bothered to correct it. The oversight, while not entirely premeditated, left her looking adorably ruffled and utterly delectable in Cullen’s eyes. The poor man’s arms hung limp by his side, his back straightened almost painfully. He was virtually crippled at just the sight of her.

Stepping towards him with languid, sensual strides, Arida put on her most intense smoulder. “Is there a problem, Ser Rutherford?” She inquired coquettishly.

He took a deep breath, swallowing nervously. “I just realised... You haven’t read the waterfall scene.”

“Not yet.”

A devilish sparkle appeared in his eyes. “Hmm, pity,” Cullen murmured, “I requested it specifically. Even wrote a little of it myself.”

He took a step nearer, and Arida couldn’t quite repress the shiver his predatory gaze gave her. “You did?”

Cullen’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. “Perhaps I’ll just have to show you instead.”

“Just in case you hadn’t noticed,” Arida breathed, “I don’t exactly have a waterfall in my bed chamber.”

Strong arms encircled her waist, drawing her against him. “Then we’ll just have to improvise,” Cullen murmured, dipping his head to taste her lips.

Lavellan groaned appreciatively. After a few moments, she moved to deepen the kiss, her nimble fingers moving to deal with the armour that prevented her from feeling him completely. After a few moments she managed to undo his chest-plate and Arida sank into his strong chest with a happy sigh. Cullen renewed the kiss with vigour. Enraptured by each other, they were content to lose track of all time.

Finally Arida broke free to murmur, “Is this going to be the way we resolve _all_ of our shenanigans?”

Cullen growled and nipped at her lower lip. “If you think of a better way—” his hand lowered to play at the hem of her robe, and Arida wiggled her hips appreciatively.

“...I’ll be sure to let you know,” she finished the sentence for him. The elf trailed her fingers along Cullen’s bare neck, grazing the line of his stubble and dipping beneath his tunic to where blond hair curled enticingly upon his chest. She rather liked the plans they were inventing for today. “So,” Arida prompted, “Tell me – how does this scene begin...?” 

 

* * *

 

 

“I must admit, I would have liked to have seen you get bowled over by the Herald of Andraste, Seeker.” Varric chuckled, tossing a portion of sweet pastry into his mouth and munching contentedly. “How tall is she, five foot six inches? That itself deserves a mention in the next volume of _Rogues and Rifts_.”

Cassandra snorted derisively. “Write one word on the subject and even that wretched ‘indemnity’ paper won’t save you.”

“Did I mention your braid is still crooked—?”

“Don’t even _think_ about touching it.”

The pair was seated on the buttress of the watch tower, staring down at the courtyard below and kicking their legs out into the cool morning air. After a few minutes of silence, Cassandra glanced down at Varric out of the corner of her eye and ventured, “Is there any more apple pie?”

He smirked, “Help yourself.”

“There _is_ going to be another chapter?”

“Naturally.”

Somehow it seemed the perfect revenge after the day she’s been through. The Nevarran chuckled around a mouthful of pie. “I was just thinking…”

“Mmhmm?”

“…You say Conrad Rutledge is accused of treason in the next chapter. And that Adeya Larellan discovers that he has been framed and sets out after his noble-born brother for vengeance.” She smirked then. “You should call it ‘Love Rifts Asunder’, and the third chapter, ‘Sealing the Breach’.”

A conspiratorial smile tugged at Varric’s cheek. “I like the way you think, Seeker.”

There was a pause then before Cassandra added, “This doesn’t make us friends.”

The dwarf laughed – a genuine belly-laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
